


domestic bliss

by blue000jay



Series: drabbles [9]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Family Feels, Fluff, Platonic Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:55:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29788827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue000jay/pseuds/blue000jay
Summary: They bring Michael back to Snowchester on Valentine’s Day, a few days before they impulsively get married. It’s a joke at first-- a cute little mob that had gotten attached to Ranboo, who had toddled on baby legs, following them to the portal and clutching to a chicken’s feathery down the whole way. They’d lured him gently, promises of gold and meat, and he’d followed right into the overworld and through the snow and chill to Snowchester. By then, they’d gained his trust enough for the kid to let them pick him up, a tiny little thing that was mostly bone and leathery, half-zombified skin.Or: Tubbo and Ranboo adopt a kid, get married, get divorced, and have a time of it. Not necessarily in that order.[Some fluff, domestic and entirely platonic.]
Relationships: Ranboo & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Ranboo & Toby Smtih | Tubbo
Series: drabbles [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2103231
Comments: 32
Kudos: 413





	domestic bliss

**Author's Note:**

> something to cheer us up after.... well. 
> 
> y'know.
> 
> enjoy!

They bring Michael back to Snowchester on Valentine’s Day, a few days before they impulsively get married. It’s a joke at first-- a cute little mob that had gotten attached to Ranboo, who had toddled on baby legs, following them to the portal and clutching to a chicken’s feathery down the whole way. They’d lured him gently, promises of gold and meat, and he’d followed right into the overworld and through the snow and chill to Snowchester. By then, they’d gained his trust enough for the kid to let them pick him up, a tiny little thing that was mostly bone and leathery, half-zombified skin.

“He sort of reminds me of Technoblade,” Ranboo comments, halfway into showing Michael that Tubbo’s house is perfectly safe and that the roof is a good thing. “In a weird way.”

“Cause he’s a pig?” Tubbo asks, glancing down at tiny hoofed fingers hooked around his own. “I guess. He’s cuter though.”

Michael is much cuter than Technoblade. He toddles into Tubbo’s house hesitantly, still holding on to the (admittedly replacement) chicken, exploring with wide, uncertain eyes. He clambers on furnaces, Ranboo catching him before he can fall, and Tubbo laughs when he discovers the windows open. Snow is also a new thing, soft and cold on his hand, and so Tubbo bundles him up in a makeshift outfit so he can make him a new one later on. They’ve got a baby piglin in Tubbo’s house, and it’s fine. Michael is fine, and once they teach him what’s dangerous and what isn’t in the house, they manage to leave him there on and off. He’s a piglin, so he’s a capable kid despite everything.

The panic comes when Sam mournfully tells them of Michael’s passing. Ranboo had left to visit his home in the tundra and Tubbo had been out visiting Foolish’s build. The panic that had rushed through them had been more than just a minor attachment to the kid-- especially Ranboo. He’d hoisted a trident into Sam’s face and demanded to know what had happened, pain cold and heavy in his stomach. It was worse even than when he’d heard Dream’s voice in the past, and based on the look on Tubbo’s face he’s pained just as much. They spend the better part of a day shouting and bargaining and trying to crack Sam, trying to figure out if Michael was actually dead or if he was just missing. The relief that flooded through them when Sam brought him back was the most overwhelming thing, clutching Michael’s tiny body to his chest and letting Tubbo wrap arms around his waist, glaring at Sam until he’d gone.

Michael gets… clingy after that. They settle in for the night, keep him close, and the next morning is fine. The problem comes when Tubbo tries to leave.

The sound that came out of the piglin baby had been horrifying. Ranboo was glad they weren’t in the Nether-- surely the cry would’ve brought hundreds of angry piglins to their sides, aiming to kill. But they’re in the overworld instead, and all that really happens is both of them clap their hands over their ears and wince.

“What’s the matter?” Tubbo cooes, immediately flying back into the house and picking him up, checking him over. He seems fine. Ranboo follows, eyeing them both from the door.

“Put him down,” he says after a second. “And come here.”

Tubbo obeys, placing Michael on the floor, stepping away. He hardly gets three steps towards the door before he starts shrieking again, face screwing up as Tubbo turns his back and Ranboo watches from the door, armor in place and trident ready to leave. Tubbo hesitates, standing there for a moment and staring at Ranboo with a look before turning back and scooping him up again. 

“Uh oh,” says Ranboo, and Tubbo pats Michael’s head gently. 

It really only gets worse from there. Michael refuses to let them out of his sight, letting out that cacophonic shriek whenever they try to leave and stubbornly doing his best to follow when they try to brute force it.

“He gets this from you!” Ranboo calls as he swoops in just in time to catch Michael from falling off the edge of the ice, him having toddled there after they both tried to leave him alone for a bit. He won’t let him drown, though, and so had thrown himself back with his trident in order to catch the kid before he fell.

“Fuck off!” Tubbo shouts back, and Ranboo half heartedly shoves a hand over Michael’s ears. 

“He can hear you!” He shouts, and there’s a huff and a thud as Tubbo lands next to them, staggering to the side and then lurching toward them.

“Come here, you freak of nature,” Tubbo says, holding his arms out, and Ranboo gently places Michael into them. They stand there for a moment, and then Tubbo heaves a sigh. “I don’t think we’re getting out of this one, Boo.”

Ranboo sighs. They do not get out of it.

Instead, Tubbo rummages in his basement until he finds what he’s looking for. Cloth, and lots of it. One iron ring later, the fabric carefully wound around it and Tubbo’s tying it over his shoulder, carefully showing Ranboo how to do it.

“It’s a sling,” he explains, tightening it a bit and plopping Michael into the pocket. He holds his arms out, and slowly spins in a circle. “He can hang out with us!”

“All the time?” Ranboo asks. Tubbo nods, and Michael makes a scratchy, choking noise that Ranboo can only guess means he’s agreeing. 

“He likes it,” Tubbo says, tugging back the fabric a bit. Michael pops his head out, squints, and then tucks his face back against Tubbo. Ranboo can’t hold the “awww” back, reaching out and patting his head gently. “I’ll take him first,” Tubbo says. “I’m just going to hang around the SMP proper anyways.”

“Sounds good,” Ranboo says. “Meet you by the ice cream shop later tonight?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Tubbo echoes back, one arm carefully hung around Michael’s back. It’s adorable. It’s the oddest thing Ranboo’s ever seen. They share careful goodbyes, and then Ranboo’s flinging himself out of the water and across the SMP. He’s got some things to do back home, clean up after his absence for a while, throw a greeting to Phil while he’s at it. Phil, who apparently has built a whole cabin while he was gone. It’s nice, it’s homey, and Ranboo allows himself a few minutes of calm trading with villagers before heading back to the SMP. 

He meanders his way there, picking flowers, talking to himself. Humming. Practicing his silk touch hands-- picking up dirt, placing it. He arrives at the ice cream shop early, sitting on the roof, soaking in the afternoon sun.

“Hey!” Tubbo’s voice cuts through his reverie an hour or so later, and Ranboo shoots up, legs swinging slightly to balance himself. Below him, standing on the Prime Path, is Tubbo. Sitting on his back is a bundle that when Ranboo jumps down, pops it’s head up.

“Hey,” Ranboo says, reaching out, patting Tubbo’s head and then Michael’s. “How’d the sling work?”

“Perfect!” Tubbo tells him, bumping his head against Ranboo’s arm. “I moved it to my back and he just hung out the whole time!” 

“No crying?”

“None!” 

They head to the motel after chatting for a couple more minutes, Tubbo plopping Michael in the grass and joining him after a few minutes of planting flowers. Ranboo ends up doing most of the work as the sun sets, hammering up spruce logs and placing scaffolding and discussing colors and semantics and silly things. 

It’s a good time. Ranboo feels… good. Michael is there, an ever-present being in the background, playing in the grass or tucked up against Tubbo’s side as they watch videos on his communicator. Eventually, Michael falls asleep. Tubbo’s on the verge of it too.

“I’m not carrying you both home,” Ranboo whispers to him as he puts away the last of his tools, gently shifting Michael off of Tubbo and into his own arms.

“Mmm,” Tubbo hums. 

Ranboo carries them both home. Tubbo clinging onto his back, Michael tucked against his front. He has to walk the whole way, but it’s worth it, entering Snowchester over the hill and passing the warehouse, stars twinkling overhead. Just as they come to Tubbo’s house it starts to snow, soft and cold, the night silent except for the sounds of Ranboo opening the door and settling them both in for the night. 

It’s peaceful. Ridiculously so, as Ranboo hesitates on the precipice of Tubbo’s doorway. Tubbo is curled in the corner, Micheal in the other curled up with his chicken and blankets. Both are asleep, and for a second his heart swells fondly. He shuts the door. Leaves quietly, the only sound of his exit being the twang of his trident as he goes. 

Days pass, and they trade Michael back and forth. More than once Ranboo walks in on Tubbo with Michael in the sling, and he himself becomes accustomed to the weight. He even tridents with it, once, careful as all hell and successfully landing it with relief. It’s not something he’ll do often, cradling Michael close when he does, but it’s enough to know that he can do it. And it’s fun, watching Michael’s eyes go wide and then squeeze shut in the sky.

They build a hotel. Tubbo tells him yellow, and Michael brings them each poppies, pulled out of the ground by their roots. Tubbo talks to him constantly, fingers flying in the universal sign language of the servers, and Michael watches with rapt attention.

Not all things can be avoided, no matter how much Ranboo tries to stick around the SMP in order to tend to Michael and his new husband, according to the RingPop and then obsidian ring Tubbo bestows upon him. They get divorced three times. They stay together for Michael’s sake. Then it’s Ranboo’s day to have Michael, and he’s working on the hotel and showing Michael around the SMP and he realizes he’s left his good pickaxe back at the tundra house. Which is… a problem, of sorts. See, Ranboo’s yet to tell Techno or Phil about their new bit of the week, which is apparently playing happy family with a toddler and husband. 

But he needs his pick, and he’s running out of things to do. And Michael refuses to stray far from Ranboo’s side or else he shrieks. And Ranboo can’t find Puffy and promised Tubbo he’d let him have the day to himself and Jack’s a no-go and-- and not  _ Sam _ , who had jokingly kidnapped Michael once. Absolutely not, even if he’d insisted he’d never hurt a kid. 

So Ranboo takes Michael to the tundra, holding him close as they head through the Nether. They stop a few times, Michael recognizing the route and dimension as his home, playing around in the netherrack and stomping through fiery bits. At first Ranboo panics when he runs straight toward the flames-- turns out, piglins (or at least Michael) are semi-fireproof. Enough so that Ranboo can tug him away before he jumps in fully. They make it through the Nether without incident, and then they’re in the cold. Michael shivers, tucking himself close to Ranboo’s legs, so he doesn’t hesitate to drag the sling out of his inventory and shove Michael in it. It’s warmer than letting him walk, and also allows them to trident across the snowy fields. 

He sees no one as he approaches the cottages, tucking part of the sling over Michael’s head as the approach and telling him, faintly, to  _ shhh. _

He gets in and out of his house before Phil catches him.

“Ranboo!” He calls out, and Ranboo spots him on top of the second cottage, hammer in hand. He lifts his own to wave, trying to escape, but he’s caught. Phil thumps down into the snow (thicker now. Meant to keep mobs from spawning, apparently, but worse to walk through) and pushes toward him, tucking his arms around his middle as he approaches.

“Hiya, mate,” he says, all smiles and rosy cheeks. “Like the new housing arrangements?”

“It’s nice,” Ranboo says, shuffling awkwardly. He feels bulky, and it’s clear there’s something around him that’s not normal. It’s just a waiting game now, the nerves settling in as Phil stops a few feet away. “You built it?”

“For myself, yeah,” Phil says, nodding. “Thought that old dog house could come down.”

“It’s nice,” Ranboo repeats, and then internally slaps himself for it. Phil cocks his head, and of course it’s then that Michael chooses to shift and snuffle. Phil glances down, then up, then back down again.

“Sooooo,” he drags out, tipping his head. “You going to address the elephant in the room, or…?”

“Tubbo and I accidentally adopted a piglin kid,” Ranboo blurts out. Phil blinks.

“That’s… not what I was expecting, honestly,” he says, lifting a hand and rubbing at his neck. “A piglin..kid?” 

“Zombified,” Ranboo says, reaching up, tugging the fabric down off of Michael’s face. He blinks, snuffling slightly as he’s exposed to the cool air and blinking in the light. 

“Oh,” Phil says, sounding slightly faint. When Ranboo glances up, he’s staring at Michael with an odd look on his face. Guilty, maybe? Or perhaps nostalgic. Ranboo can’t place it exactly, but he’s not going to address it whatsoever. That’s the thing about living with Phil and Techno-- he doesn’t ask questions, and they let him stay. 

“His name’s Michael,” he says, tipping a bit downwards to let Phil see a bit better. Michael shrinks in, hiding his face, and the next time Ranboo glances up Phil’s got a smile on his face and a thin layer of “I’m-okay-but-just-faking-it” on top of that. “Tubbo and I have been taking care of him, kind of. Joint effort. He lives in Snowchester. Sam kind of… kidnapped him? And he got really clingy, so… sling.” 

“He’s cute,” Phil says gently, reaching out with a hand. “Hey, little guy.” 

Michael shrinks away from his hand, burying his face into Ranboo’s chest. Ranboo can’t decide if Phil looks relieved or upset. 

“He’s nervous a lot,” he explains, tucking the sling fabric back over Michael’s head. “Sorry.”

Phil composes himself again, snickering softly before patting Ranboo’s arm with a smile. “Don’t be,” he says. “Kids are fickle things. Be careful with him, though. He’s not a player child-- he won’t grow up, won’t learn other than rudimentary skills. What this is…” Phil gestures to the whole of Ranboo. “...won’t last forever.”

“...you’re not the most comforting,” Ranboo says after a second. “Did you know that?” 

“I’ve actually been told the opposite on many occasions,” Phil says, and Ranboo just shrugs, smiling. 

“Well,” he says, one hand unconsciously coming around to rest on the bump that is Michael, warm against his front. Quiet, probably hiding. He’s going to be terrible later, but that’s fine. “We got ourselves into this mess, we can probably get ourselves out. And it’s peaceful right now, so. Everything’s fine.”

It’s quiet for a second, and then Phil inhales. “Well,” he says. “I won’t push the matter. Good luck with Michael. And tell Techno at some point-- feel free to bring him around if you need to.”

“Thanks, Phil,” Ranboo says, but he’s a bit disgruntled. The entire conversation has felt… off. He tucks Michael a little closer, nods to Phil, and equips his trident. “See you around.”

“Seeya, mate,” Phil calls, and then they’re gone.

The conversation hangs over Ranboo’s head for the rest of the day, even as Michael plays in the grass as he builds, even as Tubbo arrives for their nightly tradition of Ranboo working on the hotel, Tubbo pestering him with videos, and Michael flitting between mimicking Ranboo and staring intently at Tubbo’s comm screen and listening to him ramble, enraptured. 

_ This is fine, _ Ranboo thinks to himself.  _ It is.  _

\----

Tubbo stares at the bed in front of him, arms full of firewood, and heaves a fond sigh.

Ranboo’s on his back, Michael sleeping on top of him. They’re both completely and utterly conked out-- despite it being in the middle of the day. Tubbo makes sure to plop down the wood in his arms quietly, piling it up in the corner of his warm Snowchester house where Michael spends most of his days, where Ranboo shows up more often than not. Where Tubbo himself lives, even if he doesn’t spend all his days there. 

He’s quiet as he creeps through the house, careful not to wake Ranboo nor Michael. If they’re sleeping, they probably need it, and Tubbo knows what it’s like not to get enough sleep. Nightmares and insomnia alike, sleep terrors haunting the corners of his vision for hours after he wakes. Sleep is a fickle thing, and Tubbo is not very good at wrangling it in the first place.

So he lets Ranboo and Michael sleep. It’s a quiet day, Tubbo sitting on the floor and patching whatever clothes need patching, making sure the room stays warm enough for Michael to be comfortable and Tubbo and Ranboo to be down to just their t-shirts and shorts while in the house. 

It’s dark when Ranboo stirs. 

“‘Ime is it?” He asks, voice drowsy with sleep, and Tubbo eyes the windows.

“‘Bout nine,” he reasons. “You’ve been out a couple hours.”

“Jesus,” Ranboo heaves a sigh, the small shape on his chest letting out a huff as he moves minutely. Tubbo stifles a laugh in his palm. “I don’t want to move.”

“He’s so tiny,” Tubbo says, staring and pressing his palm harder over his mouth to hide his giggles. “You two were soooooooo cuuuuute.”

“Stop farming awws,” Ranboo groans, and a moment later, his hands slip under Michael’s sleepy form and shifts him onto the bed, just enough for Ranboo to escape out from under him. “It’s unbecoming.”

“I don’t know what that word means,” Tubbo informs him, “so therefore it doesn’t apply to me.”

“You’re terrible,” Ranboo groans, flopping onto the warm wooden floor and stretching out, lanky like a cat lying in a sunbeam. “I should go.”

“Stay,” Tubbo says. “You were comfy.”

“I should go,” Ranboo repeats.

“I don’t know why you won’t just stay here in Snowchester--” Tubbo begins, about to head off into a spiel about travel time and movements and Michael and how Ranboo never just _stays_ \-- but it trails off into silence when he catches the look Ranboo shoots his way. It’s not often that Ranboo gets either serious or actually annoyed with him, but he can read it in an instant when he does. Silence falls, only broken by the soft snuffling of Michael a moment later, and the cluck of the chicken in the corner.

“Sorry,” Tubbo says eventually, guilt heavy in his stomach. Echoes of words that tugged at his insecurities float through his mind, but he does his best to pay them no mind. “You can go if you want.”

“No, no, I’m sorry,” Ranboo says quietly, shifting and folding up and off the ground like a strange humanoid folding table. Tubbo tips his head back and watches as he pulls on his extra layers, jacket, hood, gloves, picks up his things from a chest by the door. 

“No fourth divorce?” Tubbo jokes lamely. Ranboo laughs, and it’s not too hollow, so he’ll count it as a win.

“Night, Tubbo,” he says, and the door shutting with a click sounds like more of an honest goodbye than the words. Tubbo sighs, glancing around the room, and lands his gaze on Michael. Michael, who just snuffles when Tubbo crawls into bed with him, who just curls up beside him and buries his head into his chest and--

Tubbo doesn’t cry anymore. Tonight is no exception.

The next day is better. Tubbo carries Michael around, introduces him to Puffy and fuck if that doesn’t go well. Michael takes to her like Ranboo had mentioned, and she takes him without hesitation. She says something about separation anxiety and working on it and there’s a note of concern when she asks him  _ Tubbo, are you alright? _

He’s fine, he tells her, waving a hand and pulling out his trident. Thanks her, then flies off to check in with Sam about Tommy and the prison. Then wanders aimlessly for a bit. His days are spent like this often, wandering around, no direction in him ever since the nukes were discontinued. There’s the hotel that he and Ranboo are working on, but that lies abandoned and quiet for today at least. Tommy’s house-- empty. L’manhole-- covered in glass, the egg vines scattered around. Those make him antsy and he avoids that side of the server in general, choosing to climb Tommy’s hotel instead and sit on top, staring at the prison and chatting a bit with Foolish on his communicator until Puffy pings him, and he meets her at the base of Tommy’s hotel.

“It’s so big,” she says, staring up at the red and spruce walls. “Impressive, really.”

“I know, right?” Tubbo says, taking Michael’s small hand as he toddles toward him, snuffling. “Hey, bud.”

“He was an angel, as always,” Puffy assures him. “We visited Kinoko Kingdom, said hello to Sapnap and Karl. Michael loved Karl.”

“That’s good,” Tubbo says, nodding carefully, watching as Michael gets distracted by a cat in the corner and heads that way. Puffy laughs lightly, then quietly, more privately--

“You know,” she says. “You’re a kid too, Tubbo.”

He jolts, glancing back at her. “What?”

“Playing house is fun and all,” Puffy says gently, “but if you need a break, take it. There’s time to relax now.”

Tubbo doesn’t think he can ever relax again, but her sentiment is appreciated. He tells her as much, and ignores how she gives him a worried look as he goes to rescue Michael from where the cat has boxed him in against the hotel glass before he starts shrieking.

There are some not-good days. There are some mediocre days. There are some days that start bad and end good, or the other way around.

Today is a bad day that twists into something wonderful.

It starts when Ranboo shows up at the hotel, and together, they work on it. Tubbo plants alliums by the front windows, Michael helping patiently with the flowers, chattering away to Ranboo about various things. Music plays from one of their comms, sitting on a chest and blaring away, and at one point, Tubbo’s dancing. Michael does his best, and Tubbo’s laughing, and Ranboo’s snickering, and they’re all back to normal again and everything’s fine and dandy. Tubbo goes home grinning that night, laughing breathily until they part and falling into bed still giddy with inside jokes pouring through his head (the chipmunk voice will never not be hilarious). The next day is quietly similar-- although something is a bit different. 

Tubbo’s halfway through an aimless ramble at Michael when it drags him out of his funk and to the surface. A movement-- hesitant from Michael at first, then more solid. A purposeful wave of his hand in front of his mouth, and Tubbo recognizes it.

“Did you pick that up from me?” He gasps as Michael signs  _ hungry  _ again, then again, then again. Tubbo knows it means he’s probably hungry, but fuck that! Michael’s signing! Michael’s communicating!!!! He swoops him up in a big circle, hugging him close, laughing-- Tubbo hadn’t thought he signed along with his words too often, but apparently he’d been wrong, since Michael had picked up a few words simply by watching Tubbo ramble when it was just them two. He’d learned sign language earlier in the spring months from Callahan, alongside Tommy-- Tommy’s hearing had gone to shit ever since the last explosion, and being able to sign instead of outright talk has been a blessing. Tubbo picked up the habit of signing constantly to practice, and now that Michael’s here, apparently he has too. It becomes more and more apparent after Tubbo’s positive reaction to the first word, and from there, words flow.

Tubbo teaches him now that he knows he can understand it. Simple words. Hungry. Water. Danger. Help. Tubbo teaches him the phrase “I love you” and Michael hesitantly copies the movements, hoofed fingers clumsy but sure in their intent. They stay cooped up nearly all day, just sitting on the floor of the home in Snowchester and signing back and forth. Tubbo teaches him more words, basic things, and by the time Ranboo shows up in the late afternoon, Michael’s practically talking in full sentences.

“Hellllo?” Ranboo calls out, and Tubbo whips his head to the side, eyes gleaming as Ranboo enters, the door shutting with a slam behind him. “Is there where you’ve been all day?”

“Go,” he encourages Michael, watching as Ranboo stomps snow off his boots and tugs off his outer jacket as Michael toddles up to him. He pauses, kneeling down gently, glancing over at Tubbo. Tubbo just grins. A second later, Michael hesitantly holds his hands out and gestures to himself, then crosses his forearms and hugs them to his chest, then gestures to Ranboo. Ranboo, who’s looking very choked up at the expression.

“Did you teach him that?” He asks, and Tubbo laughs, rolling back onto the floor and letting his head thump against the wood. 

“He learned a few signs himself!” He crows with glee, watching out of the corner of his eye as Ranboo scoops Michael up in a flying hug, the grunting laughter that he’d become so used to filling the room as they dance around in circles. Ranboo steps over Tubbo and he winces but laughs as well-- there’s cause to celebrate. 

Michael’s still giggling in his own way when Ranboo sets him down and then collapses to the floor beside them both, the piglin crawling his way into Tubbo’s lap as they all come down off their giggle fits. He hugs him close, ruffles his hair, watches as he signs again--  _ I love you. _

“Love you too, little man,” Tubbo assures him, patting his head and glancing up at Ranboo.

“He’s such a little guy,” he says. “Man. Sign language. Who knew?”

“I mean, look at Technoblade,” Tubbo says, faux-serious. “That one learned how to talk. Maybe we should stop while we’re ahead.”

“Hey!” Tubbo’s shoulder stings slightly as Ranboo reaches out to knock his knuckles against it, but Tubbo just snickers as he does. “Don’t diss my landlord!”

“Your landlord wants me dead,” Tubbo reminds him. “Or at least he hates me.” 

“He doesn’t haaaate you,” Ranboo drags out. “He just… doesn’t see eye-to-eye!” 

“I will divorce you again,” Tubbo threatens, and Michael snuffles in his lap, both of them turning their attention down to him. He’s staring between them with wide eyes and Tubbo hums, patting his head gently with a laugh. “Aw, it’s okay buddy.”

“Dad and Papa don’t hate each other,” Ranboo assures him, reaching out to do the same.

“Dad and Papa?” Tubbo asks, whipping his head up and pushing hair out of his eyes. “ _ Dad and Papa? _ Who’s who?? What the hell! You can’t just drop that!”

“I can and I will,” Ranboo says coolly, and they both stifle laughter as Michael rubs his face into Ranboo’s palm. “I’m Dad, obviously. You’re Papa.” 

“I hate how much that makes sense,” Tubbo complains, scooting his butt over the wood until he’s right next to Ranboo, leaning on the taller boy’s shoulder. “We’ve really dug ourselves into a hole here, methinks.”

“Methinks the same,” Ranboo says, leaning a bit of his weight back on Tubbo. Outside, snow starts to fall gently. 

“I don’t think I particularly mind,” Tubbo says after a few seconds of quiet silence. Michael snuffles, a ever-present heavy weight in Tubbo’s lap, and Ranboo taps fingers on his head gently. 

“I don’t think I do either,” he says. Tubbo shuts his eyes with a smile.

**Author's Note:**

> if you enjoyed, make sure to leave a kudos/comment! i update daily/frequently, with drabbles and occasionally bigger works. check out my other stuff if you like SBI and happy endings!


End file.
